


A Voice Inside

by YvaJ



Category: Doctor Who, Starman (TV), Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvaJ/pseuds/YvaJ
Summary: The life we have is not always the life we choose.  Two young girls discover that through a series of events and experiences that will change not only their lives, but the lives of those closest to them.  With a strange mix of aliens, blue boxes, magical confectioners, carousel horses and carnivals, both girls discover that the grass may not necessarily be greener on the other side.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Several years ago, I started working on this story, then I got sick and the idea fell by the wayside. Today, I have decided to start posting it in the hopes of actually finishing the project. All three of these fandoms hold a special place in my heart and the characters of Paul Forrester, Willy Wonka and the Sixth Doctor will always be a part of what I do, simply because they inspired me in such a profound way, not only growing up, but throughout my life. 
> 
> When this story began, it came about through a request from someone on another website. She suggested that I write a fan fiction about carousel horses. Always up for the challenge, I took to task of writing a story about them, all the while kicking the idea around in my mind as to where I could take it. In the years that followed, instead of only using canon characters, I decided to put original characters into the mixture as well. The result is what I have here. 
> 
> While I realize that the time element is somewhat strange here, I wish to note that Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was made in 1971 and the Sixth Doctor's run in 'Doctor Who' and 'Starman' are both set in the 1980's, I decided that the story would be set around the late 80's. In the story, Charlie Bucket and Scott Hayden are both about 18 years old. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story, and although it starts out with mostly the original characcters, I hope that you will stick around to see the canon characters coming into it. 
> 
> Enjoy the story.

**A Voice Inside**  
A ‘ _Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory_’, ‘ _Starman_ ’ and ‘ _Doctor Who_ ’  
Crossover  
By: YvaJ

**Prologue: Two Different Worlds**

Philip Reinhold was forty-three-years-old the year his father died. This had been some thirty years ago and today he was the last surviving heir to a family business that had spanned well over five generations. It was a career that was considered eccentric and different, but it was also something that had been relatively successful. It must have been as it had survived the great depression as well as two world wars. Although it was considered by many to carry some semblance of magnificence as well as fantasy, it was also viewed as a dying trade.

His artistic talent made him a hero in the eyes of his fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Susannah. For as long as she could remember, she had always known that this was the kind of life she really wanted. Throughout her young life, she often recalled how she would sit and watch in awe as he molded together unique pieces of art, his hands forming and creating beauty in the wink of an eye. By watching him work, she discovered a dream that would not die, it became a secretly held aspiration to pursue the same artistic trade as her talented grandfather had devoted his life to.

Sadly, Susannah’s aspirations were never even taken seriously because of the old-fashioned prejudices that Phillip embraced about girls being unable to pursue the artistic trade that he practiced. Instead of confessing her dream to him, she would spend her days collecting small pieces of wood and each night, she would painstakingly carve them into small models that mirrored the lifesized ones her grandfather made.

Carousel horses were indeed a sight to behold and over time, the men, not the women, of the Reinhold family would pass along the tricks of the trade. Today, Phillip worked as an artisan for a traveling carnival company. During the summer months, Susannah was allowed to travel alongside her grandfather. It was her hope that somehow, he would discover her hidden abilities and take her on as an apprentice. As it were, the Reinhold family tradition would ultimately die because of the outdated prejudices that her grandfather subscribed to.

Contrary to this particular vice, Philip did love his granddaughter dearly, but it was no secret that he had, since her birth, wished that she had been a boy. If that had only been the case, then he believed that his family’s legacy would have continued for at least another generation.

Today, his options seemed few and far between. Either he would have to ask Susannah’s father, Nathan, to take over his work or buck tradition and train his granddaughter. For the old man, the second option was completely out of the question.

His only son lived a life that was completely contrary to that, which Philip enjoyed. Nathan worked at a large company, and had become what the old man had often referred to as a ‘suit’. He lived for his work, the steady income much more appealing than continuing with the unstable family business. In fact, even as a child, the younger Reinhold man did not find traveling from place to place as an appealing application for someone who was as ambitious as he was.

It was for that reason that Nathan had often insisted that his father’s work was outdated and silly. If he had his way, Philip would be living in an assisted living facility instead of traveling about and living his life out of a suitcase.

Philip clearly loved what he did and was of sound enough mind to tell his son that he would rather die than to be stuck in an ‘old folks home’. He went on to say that this was not living, but rather existing and waiting for the grim reaper to make an appearance.

Contrary to his age and his calloused hands, the passion and love of his work somehow kept him young inside. It was on that basis that his arguments about his life to his son were always the same: ‘Just because I’m old does not mean I’m worthless. There is still some time left and I’ll be damned if I spend it in some hospital.’

Although the teenager revered her grandfather’s grit and determination, she did not like his sexist manner or the comments that he often made about her gender. She knew beyond any doubt that he would have rebuked her if she tried to emulate him.

On top of that, her own father seemed put out with the lackadaisical life that she wanted to pursue. To him, her ambitions were ridiculous and he hoped that she would grow out of them. After the loss of his wife, Nathan vowed that no matter what, his daughter would need a firm foundation, which consisted of, in his words, ‘a stable upbringing’.

This was something that Susannah wholeheartedly rebelled against. She was clearly not like the other girls her age. Instead of going to slumber parties and exchanging makeup tips, the teenager spent much of her time in the corner of her grandfather’s workshop either watching him work or making small wooden models of her own. She had several dozen small horses that she kept in a box at the foot of her bed. Every so often she would give them away by putting them in places where they were sure to be found by unsuspecting strangers.

It had been that way since the summer holidays had started and her father had reluctantly agreed that she could travel about with her grandfather. After all, there was no denying that this was a far cry better than simply sitting in an empty house and waiting for him to come home from work only to complain that she had not yet cleaned up her room.

During the warm summer months, the carnival company where Philip was employed would travel all along the coastal areas of southern England. London was to be the longest stretch of time that they would have in one place. In fact, it had been a dream of Susannah’s ever since she was a small child to visit the large metropolitan city and take in the sights.

To the teenager, London carried the same sort of impression that Paris might have held in the heart and mind of a romantic. She had a long list of things that she would like to see, one of which was the behemoth sized chocolate factory that belonged to Willy Wonka.

Susannah had heard as many stories about the place as she had of its reclusive owner. There seemed to be a mystery that surrounded it and that matched with her own internalized curiosity, made the fantasies literally take flight in her consciousness.

She never really spoke of this desire to anyone as it was the same sort of secret as her making miniature carousel horses or dreaming about continuing the family business.

In her heart of hearts, however, she believed that there was something remarkable that linked her to the creative genius of Willy Wonka. Because of the stories she had often heard tell of him, she wondered if he would be the type of person who might understand her wanting to continue a tradition that was generally defined as a masculine one.

In the days to come however, Susannah would discover that her fondest hopes and wishes were going to collide with one another in a very profound and immense way. Through that, she would discover that in helping another, she would essentially be helping herself.

~~~~~

On the other side of the city, another teenage girl would be spending the evening harboring wishes and hopes of her own. The two girls were quite different when it came to appearances, but deep down, they carried heartfelt dreams and ambitions that were quite similar.

This girl’s name was Mari-Jutta, and for as long as she could recall, there was no memory of ever having lived outside the gates of Willy Wonka’s immense chocolate factory. She had been four-years-old on the day that the chocolatier had come to her people and offered them the sanctuary of his home. For that reason, her native homeland was about as unfamiliar to her as the world beyond the factory gates.

It was no secret that her existence was a well-preserved secret, but yet she yearned to see and experience life beyond the factory.

Mari-Jutta’s stature was just under a meter high and she generally roamed the corridors dressed in gingham styled dresses that practically dragged along the floor. This concealed the odd looking boots that she oftentimes wore. To her, the dress was a far cry better than the uniform looking overalls that her parents and siblings always seemed to be wearing.

While she loved the feel of the dress against her skin, the evidence of it only made her believe that she was an oddity among her own people. Her eyes were a pale blue color, her skin, the tone of a Halloween pumpkin. Her hair was straight and emerald green in color and she intentionally wore it long so that it would somehow conceal her unusual facial features.

Although young, she had heard many stories from the tribal elders about the man who had saved her people from extinction. That did not stop her from feeling trepidation about the pending meeting she would be having with him in the coming days.

To her, the confectioner was an even greater mystery than her past.

At that moment, she was sitting on her bed and stared sadly at the wall of her sleeping quarters. She had been given the room when she turned fifteen and now having just turned sixteen, she knew what her life had suddenly become. She was now faced with the very same choices that all adolescents of their culture would ultimately face – coming of age and all the ceremony that went along with it.

This meant that she would have to take her rightful place as a worker in training at the factory. This was the norm and expected of her.

In truth, Mari-Jutta knew what it meant; either take her place in society or be cast off. Although this was the ultimate consequence, it had never transpired and no Oompa Loompa dared question it.

Mari-Jutta was the type of girl who possessed a creative mind and a plethora of ideas. This trait was contrary to what the others expected and her hopes and dreams were not known to anyone but herself. She could not express this to her father, much less to the one she had been raised to address as ‘Master Wonka’.

It was abundantly clear that the last thing she really wanted to do was to upset the status quo, which would essentially cause grief to her parents as well as her siblings. If she were to oppose her fate, then that meant the tribal elders would have to intervene. She wanted nothing more than to avoid that sort of scrutiny.

Looking around her quarters, it was clear that she stood out like a sore thumb from the other girls. Gone were the bamboo fixtures and decorations of tribal unity and in their places were cut out pictures of actors and singers of the modern day.

‘White Skins’ was the term her mother had often used to describe them. This was a disdainful term in the Oompa Loompa language which described the people who were responsible for betraying their beloved employer.

The teenager knew that she did not share her mother’s prejudices in fact; she looked upon these people with unhidden wonderment. They were different than she, and yet, she wanted nothing more than to walk amongst them as a normal teenager would. She had even tried to make her appearance look as modern as she could. This seemed to parallel what she had seen during those nights when she would sneak into the Wonkavision room and watch the programs on the large screen.

As her gaze shifted from one picture to another, she smiled secretly at the handsome men that graced the photos that were lined up along her wall.

Abruptly, a small smile danced across her lips as she was left staring at a picture of Charlie Bucket that had been clipped from the local paper. It was only two months old and he was dressed in a tuxedo and representing ‘Wonka Industries’ at a charity function. His likeness was meshed between pictures of the Beatles and Davy Jones.

Sighing, she removed her gloves and allowed her fingers to casually glide over the picture, the light touch of it against her hand making her smile so broadly that her teeth were visible.

 _One day, Master Charlie,_ she thought as she continued to lovingly stroke his likeness.

When she heard sounds in the other parts of her home, she quickly grabbed the gloves and put them back on. It was one thing to have pictures of these people on her wall, but to have taken off her gloves would have been the last straw for her traditionalist parents.

It was an unspoken rule that stated that the removal of gloves would have been an offense to their culture. After all, it was not appropriate for an Oompa Loompa to go without their gloves, except when they slept.

As the sounds faded once again, Mari-Jutta sank back against the pillows on her bed, her arms eventually coming to rest in her lap. _If only there was a way for me to live the life that I really want,_ she thought sadly as she cast a glance towards the window.

It did not give way to the light of day instead it showed her the trees that were planted inside a spacious greenhouse of a room. The controlled environment was the only aspect of Loompaland that remained, although she wondered why her people wanted this if the environment was reminiscent of those horrible beasts that had once dined on them.

Shuddering slightly, her thoughts continued to wander. _There must be more to life than just living behind a wall,_ she thought sadly as she shifted her weight so that she would be taller. From this stance, she strained herself so that she could see the gray colored clouds that rose beyond the walls of the factory.

_If only there was a way to experience life beyond the factory…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Realism and Rationality**

Willy Wonka was a realistic man, but only when he was not consumed with his work. Perhaps it was that even balance that made the chocolatier as kind and understanding as he was. This was something that Charlie Bucket discovered the more years he spent working with the prominent candy maker.

Now with Willy’s latest project capturing worldwide media acclaim, the teenager had concluded that the confectionary genius was a source of endless surprises.

In the wake of their latest project going public, Willy Wonka had dealt with this in the same unchanged manner as he had always done. His humor was still intact, his sly smirk and sparkling blue eyes were unchanged. The idea was something that he and Charlie had dubbed as the ‘world-wide raffle’. Instead of Golden Tickets, the candy bars now had silver tickets with the numbers one through five hundred inside. There stood a better chance at getting a number, but the actual winner would be drawn out of a barrel in the form of a raffle.

The prize would be a short tour of the factory as well as a ride in the famous Wonkavator. Ever since the Golden Ticket contest had happened, Willy had been working very hard at perfecting this particular invention. He now had two in service, but only one would be used as transportation for the grand prize winner of the raffle.

The invention had also captured the world’s attention from its first spontaneous flight from the factory on October first, some six years before. Today, children were fantasizing about it while adults clamored to see it in person.

“It was a brilliant means in which to sell several million candy bars,” Charlie’s grandpa Joe had commented the moment the new marketing tactic had been unveiled. Along with this new contest, thousands of miniature replicas of the famous flying machine were selling out in toy shops world-wide. Somehow, Wonka industries had gone from selling just candy, into signing million pound contracts with the toy industry.

Regardless of the prosperity that now was coming to him, the confectionary genius remained dedicated and strived to make the world a better place for everyone.

~~~~~~

On that particular day, Charlie had returned to the factory somewhat out of breath. While out in the city, the young man had discovered that a carnival had come to town and he thought it would be an ideal way to get Willy outside for an afternoon of recreation instead of spending it cooped up inside working.

It was abundantly clear that the teenager was in dire need of a break as well. Earlier that day, his grandfather said that he was not feeling very well, so Charlie concluded that perhaps Willy might be interested in coming with him to see the sights on the midway as well as take a spin on the tilt-a-whirl.

“It will be neat to visit the midway,” he muttered under his breath as he walked slowly towards the chocolatier’s office. Although Willy knew his apprentice well, the teenager still resorted to rehearsed speeches as a means of persuasion. “You’re as white as a sheet and the sunshine will do you a world of good.”

He continued to mumble as he walked, his soft utterances filling the otherwise empty corridor. At least, that was the case until he heard the sounds of someone approaching from behind and a soft feminine voice suddenly addressing him.

“With whom are you speaking, Master Charlie?”

Sighing, he turned around to see one of the Oompa Loompas standing behind him. She was staring up at him, her gloved hand covering her lips and trying to conceal her amusement.

“Hello Mari-Jutta,” he said flushing at having been caught carrying on a one-sided dialogue. “I was sort of practicing…” his voice trailed off. When she did not respond to his words, he continued, the embarrassment now coming to a head, “…oh snozzberries! Now you probably think I’m crazy.”

Mari-Jutta shook her head but shyly glanced over towards the brown colored door with golden writing that covered it. This was the door to Willy Wonka’s office, a place she had never dared to venture. Turning back around she could see that Charlie looked a bit flustered and she wondered if it was because of something she might have said. “I-I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t, I’m just trying to figure out if I can get Mr. Wonka to come with me to the carnival today. He rarely leaves the factory and I thought since this one looked sort of interesting, that he might actually consider it and come with me.” He took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “The thing is, I used to do that sort of stuff with my dad, but after he died, I guess I never really thought about going back.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I mean; I do, but it feels strange talking about it. I really should be over his death, it happened more than a decade ago.”

“Sometimes you never really get over these things,” she offered softly, but instead of maintaining eye contact, she shyly looked away. “The carnival does sound like it would be a lot of fun, though.”

“It does?” he asked and when he saw her nodding, he continued. “I thought Oompa Loompas only liked to sing songs and make candy.”

She shook her head. “Not all of us do. I mean; sure it’s fine and all, but I like listening to other stuff besides my father reciting another verse to ‘our song’.”

“I guess what I said sounded a little bit stereotypical, didn’t it?” he asked. When she shrugged her shoulders, he continued, his voice now laced in apologetic undertones. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t intended.”

“It’s okay.”

“So where are you heading?” he asked opting to change the subject.

“The elders said that I needed to go and speak with Master Wonka about my assigned task,” she said.

“Do you want to go in before I do?” he asked.

In response, she closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, you can go before me. If you want to know the truth, I would rather not go in at all.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked. “I mean; Mr. Wonka is a really nice guy.”

“Perhaps,” she whispered.

“If it would make you feel better why don’t we just go in together?” he suggested.

“Why do you offer that?”

“Because you look kind of scared and maybe it would help if you didn’t have to do this all by yourself,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “It might actually. I mean; I’ve never spoken to Master Wonka before. I don’t even know what he’s like or if he would understand me at all.”

“You haven’t?” Charlie asked. “Not even once?”

“There was never any need,” she said. “I was a child before, and now that I have ‘come-of-age’, I must face my future as any adult would.”

Charlie sighed as he regarded the shorter girl. The realization had hit him long before that day that she carried herself more like a kid from his class than an Oompa Loompa. Well that is except for her word choice, because for whatever reason, he could not help but ponder how she sometimes sounded like one of his teachers.

Despite himself, he began to take in her outward appearance. On that day, she was dressed in the uniform overalls of her people instead of wearing the gingham style dresses she usually wore. Her green hair was tied back in a casual ponytail using a small gold colored clip that seemed to clash with the outfit she was wearing.

As he continued to take in her attributes, something became clear to him, she was not happy and while he often tried to befriend the Oompa Loompas that were about his age, he soon conceded to the fact that they were simply not interested. Mari-Jutta was the only one who spoke to him about things other than weights and measures of cocoa bean consumption. She liked music and movies and asked about the world outside.

He took a deep breath and decided that now would be a time for him to make a request of her. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Yes, Master Charlie, I am obliged to do whatever you ask,” she said cordially.

“Would you please not call me that anymore?”

“Call you what?” she asked.

“‘Master Charlie’,” he said with evident distaste. “I know that culture sort of expects it, but it makes me feel weird.”

“Does it offend you?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that we’re close to the same age and it feels odd for someone like me to have a title like that,” he said sighing. “Maybe I’m not explaining it very well, but I would really prefer it if you’d just call me ‘Charlie’ like my friends do.”

“B-but, I couldn’t,” she whispered as she cast a glance down the hallway. “I-I would no doubt be reprimanded by the others for such an offense.” After some moments had passed, she looked up at him with unhappy tears brimming from beneath her eyes.

Seeing this, Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “If that’s the case, then never mind.” He raised his hand with the intention of knocking. “Are you ready?”

She looked down at the ground, but helplessly nodded. “I guess so.”

Instead of knocking, he turned around and looked at her. “You have no reason to be afraid of him. He saved your people from an uncertain future. I mean; I know for a fact that there is no way he’d ever hurt you or anyone else. He’s kind and if you told him how you feel about the world or work or anything, then he’d understand.” He reached for her hand and when he held it, he pressed it between both of his hands. “I promise everything will be alright.”

“I-I know you speak the truth, but I’m still scared,” she whispered as she looked up at him. “He’s going to decide what I must do with my life. I mean; it’s not about my fearing him as it is my knowing that he has power over me.”

“What is it that you really want?” he asked.

“I have no idea and I don’t know how to find out,” she confessed. “Just now, you were talking about the carnival, and I was wondering what it would be like. The thing is I’ve never been anywhere besides the factory and to think about that sort of makes me sad.”

Charlie looked at her somewhat surprised. Her attitude was definitely a refreshing change from the girls he knew outside. Most of them were interested in the factory, not in him and this made him feel used and discarded. As a result, he stopped inviting kids from the outside to visit him.

Eventually, he opted to forgetting his problems and looked at her. “Have you ever ridden on the Wonkatania?”

“No,” she shook her head, “never.”

“How about taken a ride in the Wonkavator?” As he was speaking, he realized that he was trying to compare the two to a carnival ride, but somehow he could sense that he was falling dreadfully short.

She shook her head but after several moments, she stopped and stared up at the door. As she did, a lump lodged itself in her throat as she nervously rubbed her hands together. Instead of speaking further, she lightly tapped on the closed door.

Charlie, seeing this reached over and knocked a fraction louder and the two teenagers waited.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2: Pictures and Stories**

At the same moment, nearly an ocean away, an alien being in the guise of photojournalist Paul Forrester stood outside of the editor’s office for the local newspaper where he had been hired. Although the _Mainland Tribune_ could boast a vast readership for the area it served, rumor had it that it was on the verge of economic collapse.

In the back of his mind, Paul half expected getting another assignment working alongside Herman Reynolds, the lackadaisical reporter who headed up the ‘Entertainment News’ department. The past week had reaped the very same result and Paul had grown accustomed to the somewhat eccentric personality of the reporter.

Not fully understanding why it was he had been summoned, Paul took a deep breath and tapped lightly on the door and waited for the editor to say ‘come in’.

When these words emerged, he slowly opened the door and came halfway into the room but stopped to lean casually against the door frame. It was no secret the editor made him wary. She knew of the original Forrester’s reputation as a ladies man and he was none too thrilled at the prospect of giving her the wrong impression. He cleared his throat and spoke, his inquiry somewhere between professional and forced. “You wanted to see me, Alex?”

Alexandra Parker raised her head and nodded. “Yes Paul, would you mind closing the door and taking a seat?”

Nodding, he stiffly did as she instructed and once he had lowered himself into a chair opposite the desk, he watched as she reached for a can of cream soda and took a sip.

Keeping his stance as neutral as possible, he simply crossed his arms over his lap and waited for her to speak. Although short in stature, the brunette editor was hard as nails and ran a very tight ship. She had told him the day she hired him that if any woman made a complaint about him overstepping boundaries, he’d be out of a job. There was no place for harassment on her watch. Paul understood that, and from the start, he had kept a very safe distance from all the female reporters in the newsroom.

For several moments, no words were uttered. Instead, he watched as she replaced the can and regarded him through intent brown eyes. “I want you to take on the Wonka story, Paul.”

“The Wonka story,” Paul repeated, clearly confused.

“Yes, it’s really big news, and this paper needs it to keep up with those big city syndicates.” When his look of perplexity did not waver, she continued. “Don't tell me you don't know anything about it?”

“I'm sorry, I haven’t been paying much attention,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders. “What is it?”

“It's only the biggest thing to hit the planet in years,” she responded as she looked for some sign of recognition on the photojournalist’s face. Seeing none, she took a deep breath. “Look, I know that this is not a typical thing for you to do, writing a story.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he admitted. “I take pictures, I can’t write news.”

“That’s why I think you’re just what the story needs,” she said inhaling slowly.

“Be honest, Alex,” Paul said, his blue eyes bearing down into those of the editor. “There’s another angle to this.”

Seeing this, the woman looked away, but eventually nodded. “Okay, you win, it’s a budgetary issue. I can’t afford to send both a photographer _and_ a reporter out on this assignment.” She paused and when she saw that he was nodding, she continued. “Do you remember the Golden Ticket thing that happened six years ago?”

He shook his head.

“It was a huge thing, how could you possibly not have heard anything about it?”

“I guess at the time I was pretty busy,” he mused, this time he was looking away from her instead of the other way around.

“Must have been a woman,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, forget it,” she muttered before taking another deep breath and trying to explain something that equated to ‘mass hysteria’ in fifteen or less seconds. “Paul, the golden tickets caught the attention of the entire world. Everyone was following it, even celebrities, politicians, and royalty. I don’t know how much you know about Willy Wonka, but he’s probably the most famous recluse on the planet. A monk’s got nothing on this guy. He’s an absolute genius; he’s like Midas, everything he touches turns to gold. Well, not literally, but you get the idea,” a pause. “Anyway, to make a long story short, his competitors got really angry because he was so good at what he did that they sent in spies to steal his recipes. After that happened, Mr. Wonka closed the factory, fired his workers, and went into isolation. A few years later, the factory starts running again and to this day, no one knows how or why. According to sources close to the story, some of the workers who had been canned were still unemployed when the factory reopened, so he couldn’t have rehired them. The deal is, Paul, no one has any idea as to who is working for him.”

“You want me to find out, is that it?” Paul asked.

“It would be a great angle for you to find out, but no, that would be too risky,” Alex said as she cast a glance down at the papers on her desk. Moments later she raised her head and once again was looking at him. “Since you don’t know the background on the golden tickets, here’s the deal. One day out of the blue, these fliers start popping up everywhere and the television stations have gone completely mad. Five golden tickets had been hidden inside Wonka bars. Most people figured that it was nothing more than a clever marketing tactic, but later the tickets are actually found and world goes completely bonkers. After the contest ended, it was reported that Wonka was looking for someone to take his place.”

“Did he find anyone?”

“Yes, a young boy named Charlie Bucket,” she said. “Now for the past six years, Charlie has been the face of the factory. No one ever sees Wonka; they only see this teenager who, over time, has grown from a pre-teen kid into a young man. It’s eerie, but also rather fascinating. Now, Wonka Industries has done something again that parallels the golden ticket contest. It’s taken the world by storm and I want someone from this paper to go to London and cover it.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders, all the while not knowing what to say. It was true that he was not as experienced with newspaper work as his predecessor. However, in all the excitement of his son finishing his final exams and graduating from high school, Paul had pretty much ignored the whole phenomena.

After several moments, he inhaled slowly. “You want me to go to London?”

“Yes.”

“But Alex, I have a son who is not going to like my leaving so soon after he’s graduated from high school,” Paul objected. “He’s got issues that stem back to the first time I had to leave him.”

The editor silently reached inside her desk drawer and pulled out a small piece of silver paper. This, she extended to him. “Give this to your son. He’s going to be a part of the story.”

Paul looked down at the object now resting in his hand. The brown colored writing that graced it said ‘Wonka Silver Ticket’ and the number ‘231’. “What is this?”

“I found one of the tickets last night and I thought that maybe your son could go with you,” she said.

“I can’t subject him to this form of scrutiny,” Paul said firmly, “that is not part of my job description. When you interviewed me, we agreed on two things, there would be no ‘shenanigans’ and I would work low profile.” He took a deep breath and regarded the editor, “I wish I could explain, but there’s a reason why it is I cannot accept this assignment.” He paused as he glanced across the desk and saw her unhappy expression. “I don't want to upset you, as I really do need this job, but I can’t handle any public exposure right now.”

“I understand, but try to keep in mind that the chance of your son actually being selected the winner of the raffle is pretty damn remote. There are five hundred of these tickets floating around and there’s only going to be one winner of the lot. I found this ticket purely by accident.”

“Why don’t you use it then?” Paul asked.

“I would but I can’t go to London,” she said and lowered her head shamefully. “I’m terrified of flying. That’s why I want to give it to you and pay your trip to London. Your son’s trip is being paid through the silver ticket. How they managed to pull that off, I’ll never know, but for you it’ll be written off as a work expense.” She stopped speaking, but when Paul did not respond, she continued. “Look, even if you can’t write a story about your experiences there, the pictures you take at the event will be an asset to us. We can do an entire photo spread, whatever you want.”

Paul looked down at the ticket that rested in his hand. “I’m still not sure about this.”

“The drawing will take place at the factory gates on the first day of August,” she said. “If we have someone in the field over there, then maybe we can save this paper.”

“What do you mean, ‘save this paper’?”

“We are losing advertising revenue by the week and the prospect of closure is looming. Nobody out there knows that yet, although the rumors have been flying all over the place. Maybe it’s a stupid idea, but I figured that someone as high profile as you going to London would help save us. If we can get the pictures from the event, then it might help keep this paper from going under. Who better to do this than you? After all, you survived Mount Hawthorne some years back and maybe you would be the one that the eccentric candy maker might actually relate to.”

“In other words, you really do want me to try to get an interview with Willy Wonka?” Paul asked.

“Maybe it’s a long shot, but what I’m suggesting is that you not leave any stones unturned. If you can get an interview with him, then that would be the best possible outcome for all of us, but realistically I’m not counting on too terribly much.”

“Why not?” Paul asked.

“Because things have not changed with him since he found his heir. I am wont to say that he’s no doubt gotten much worse since Charlie Bucket is the one who goes out and represents the company at social functions. It would seem to me that when he went and found his successor, he also found an enabler to his reclusive lifestyle.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Let me put it this way, he’s got someone who can do the footwork for him,” Alex said, her expression laced in disdain. “I know what you’re probably thinking, that’s a hell of a lot of responsibility to unload on an eighteen-year-old kid. Can you imagine your son taking on something like that?”

Paul shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

“I don’t know of too many adults who could either,” she said. “That’s why you’re the best man for the job. You’re a parent, and maybe through that you can go over there and see if there really is a story.”

“I will not be party to putting a child on the spot, Alex,” Paul said firmly. “I couldn’t do that to Charlie Bucket any more than I could do it to my own son.”

“You’re not the overly ambitious type I thought you were when you started here,” she remarked as she took another sip of her drink. “I think you know that I’m going out on a limb here, but it needs a human edge, Paul. I’m asking you because my gut is telling me that you’ll handle this with kindness and integrity. Now, do you really want to prove my gut wrong?” As she was speaking, she offered him a watery smile.

Paul arched his eyebrows at her word choice, but instead of addressing it, he merely got to his feet and started to back his way towards the door, the silver ticket still in his hand. “Alright, I’ll do it. When do I leave?”

Alex dug around in the drawer of her desk and pulled out a stack of papers. “In two days. Here are your tickets, and I assume you and your son both have valid passports?”

“Yes, Scott got his when his class in Seattle went to Canada three years ago, and I had one done several years ago as well,” Paul said. “They should both still be valid.”

“Good,” she said and watched as he stared down at the airline tickets now resting in his hand. They were already listed in his and Scott’s names. Alex had indeed done her homework on this and it was clear that she had managed to get everything done before Paul had even entered the room.

“You already did this?” Paul asked skeptically. “What if I had said ‘no’?” 

“I would have had to call the airlines and get a refund with a made up story about you being in the hospital with a 103 degree temperature or something,” she smiled sheepishly at him. “It’s called being on one’s toes.”

He nodded and smiled as he accepted the airline tickets and left the office. Seconds later, he closed the door behind him.

Once he was gone, a smile stretched its way across the editor’s face. Paul Forrester, one of the most famous photojournalists in the world was going to London to Willy Wonka’s factory on assignment for her paper. _This little bit of news would no doubt show up those snobs at the ‘Times’ and save this one from the funding axe,_ she thought smugly as she tossed the empty soda can into the nearby receptacle.

~~~~~

As soon as Paul had exited the editor’s office and closed the door, he sighed. _How do I get roped into these things?_ he asked himself. That would only give him that evening to tell Scott about their spontaneous trip to London. He could not help but wonder how his son was going to react to this particular bombshell.

He made his way through the newsroom but suddenly stopped when he noticed that Herman Reynolds was casually at his desk watching news broadcasts on a small television set. Generally, he ignored the news, but something that was being reported made him stop and take notice.

“…A mysterious blue box was reported to have disappeared along Highway 59 just north of Hildale in southern Utah. When asked about it, Army Corporal Josh Bennett responded…” The screen abruptly changed and a tall dark haired man decorated with medals and honors was standing behind an official looking podium. “We have been in briefing with members of the Federal Security Agency, or F.S.A. as well as the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, or U.N.I.T, regarding the blue box and we are prepared to make a statement.” He cleared his throat as he raised his hand and read from a piece of paper. “It has been confirmed that the box in question has purely British origins and it poses little, if no, threat to the national security of the United States of America.” He lowered the piece of paper and continued. “According to the U.N.I.T. representative at a press conference held at the UN some twenty minutes ago…”

Herman switched off the television at that moment and snorted. “Yeah, but you know there’s going to be worldwide panic because that story has more holes in it than a pound of Swiss cheese. You know it stands to reason, don’t you Paul?”

“Why is that?” Paul asked.

“Well, every time you turn around and someone screams or suspects ‘aliens’ are involved, the entire planet goes completely ballistic. Why should this time be any different? No one has even bothered to explain what the witness saw. I mean; she must have seen something to put herself in the public eye like that. One thing is clear I’d really love to interview that woman and get her to spill the beans about what she saw. I mean, they all think she’s mad, but she was completely sober the day she saw it. She was just heading home from her aunt’s house when she saw the box on the side of the road just disappear. She’s got more credibility than some bozo leaving a bar. She probably doesn’t drink alcohol, so the chances of her being drunk are minimal. Shoot, she probably doesn’t even touch cough syrup because of the possibility of there being alcohol in it.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think that blue box is alien?”

“Hell, I don’t know, but if it wasn’t important than they wouldn’t be making a big deal about a box disappearing on a deserted highway in Utah,” he said. “You know what I think?” Before Paul could respond, he continued. “I think it is alien and they don’t want to scare everyone. So they make up some cockamamie story about it being from Britain and leave it at that. Can you imagine what would happen if an actual alien did land on the planet?”

“All hell would break loose?” Paul asked his voice completely void of irony.

“Yeah,” Herman said. “Do you know what I wish?”

“What?”

“I wish Alex would drop it with this tired old Wonka story and focus on this blue box. If that thing were to show up here, then people would have no choice but to accept the fact that alien life exists. Either that or someone in DC is involved in the practical joke of the century. I mean; what are the chances of anyone here finding a silver ticket anyway?”

Paul discreetly returned the ticket to his pocket and looked at the other reporter. “Well, I’m leaving in two days to go to London, maybe I can find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alex put me on the Wonka story,” Paul began. “Didn’t you know?”

“I don’t know squat!” Herman said as he looked at Paul skeptically. “Why on earth would she put you on a story? You’re not even a reporter, you’re just a photographer.”

“I know, I asked her about that as well. I guess she figured that a picture’s worth a thousand words. She wants me to try and get an interview with Willy Wonka, but I’m doubtful I can. Maybe while I’m out there, I can find out something about this blue box as well,” Paul said.

“Well, they did say that it’s British property, so maybe there’s a chance that it’ll turn up,” Herman said. “Just don’t tell Alex that you’re nosing around another story or she’ll have your neck on the chopping block.”

“I don’t follow,” Paul mused.

“Paul, I know that you’re pretty new around here, so let me cue you in on something. Alex knows this business backwards and forwards, and if she so much as suspects that you’re taking risks while out in the field, she’ll toss you out of here. She’s a good editor, but not a risk taker, and I think it aggravates her to know that the people that work here are much braver than she is. To her way of thinking, the Wonka story is safe, but an alien blue box is not safe, it could prove to be risky and dangerous.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know about it,” Paul offered.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Herman said. “She’s in the newspaper biz, she knows about every story that comes down the pike, she just chooses the easy way out. She talks tough, but she’s not. You’ve heard the rumors, but one thing is abundantly clear; she’s deathly afraid that this paper is going to fold within the next year and she thinks that this Wonka deal is going to be what saves it.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, but we’re reporters, Paul. If we can’t find out what’s going on under our own noses, then how can anyone expect us to sleuth around for the real news?” Herman asked.

“Do you think finding out about the blue box might help?” Paul asked.

“It can’t hurt, but don’t forget this could be dangerous.”

“I don’t know how a box could be considered a great risk or dangerous,” Paul mused.

“Neither did Pandora,” Herman said smirking.

“Excuse me?”

“Pandora’s Box, don’t you know any folklore?” the reporter asked. When Paul merely shrugged his shoulders, he continued. “Look, just be careful when you’re out there. Send whatever information you find and I’ll see if there’s a story to it.”

Paul nodded and returned to his desk.


End file.
